


Wash With Like Colors

by MyMisguidedFairytale



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dark Continent Arc, Games, Good Writing, Laundry, Living Together, M/M, One Shot, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Sharing Clothes, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMisguidedFairytale/pseuds/MyMisguidedFairytale
Summary: On the front of the washing machine someone had taped a note with the names of each of their teammates scribbled next to each day of the week, followed by rough caricatures of each of their faces in a different color ink. Someone had defaced both the images of Pariston and Ging’s faces—and according to the list, it had become Ging’s turn to do laundry right at midnight.





	Wash With Like Colors

**Author's Note:**

> _Wash With Like Colors_ was originally written and published on August 06, 2014 on [tumblr](https://cheadle-yorkshire.tumblr.com/post/93930663287/fanfiction-hunter-x-hunter-wash-with-like).
> 
> Everything below is preserved as it was originally posted:
> 
> **Title** : Wash With Like Colors  
>  **Pairing** : Pariston x Ging  
>  **Word Count** : 1494  
>  **Summary** : On the front of the washing machine someone had taped a note with the names of each of their teammates scribbled next to each day of the week, followed by rough caricatures of each of their faces in a different color ink. Someone had defaced both the images of Pariston and Ging’s faces—and according to the list, it had become Ging’s turn to do laundry right at midnight.  
>  **A/N** : Takes place during the month where Pariston & co were waiting for their supporters to take the Hunter Exam. The story seeks to answer such questions as, ‘Ging isn’t wearing the same thing for the entire month, is he?’ and ‘where is he sleeping?’ Same verse as _Perihelion_.

_**Wash With Like Colors** _

The hour was fast approaching midnight, and someone was making quite a racket in one of the common rooms—and it couldn’t be the kitchen, because Pariston had a decent viewpoint of it from his position seated on the low-backed sofa, going over his ledgers for the last time that evening. Perhaps the sound was coming from the laundry room, or the rec room. Everyone else had already turned in, or so he thought, and while he often took it upon himself to make sure all the lights were turned off in the evenings and no one had left the stove on, he was not the only one who preferred to stay up late. Others, like Kururi, were serial morning people, and Ging Freecs kept the most strange and unpredictable hours.  
So imagine his surprise when he entered the laundry room to see Ging leaning over the table they’d shoved in one corner of the room as a makeshift folding station. He was spinning a coin—something large and shiny—and when it rolled off the table he reached out and snatched it out of the air before it could hit the floor.

He turned, and straightened his back upon seeing Pariston, as if he was just now choosing to notice him. He’d been doing that a lot lately—regardless of their physical proximity, and the flares from each of their auras, he would ignore Pariston completely in favor of reading or conversing with the others in their group. It irritated him, and he supposed that was why Ging did it.

“What are you doing?” Pariston asked.

“Laundry.” For his part, Ging looked unabashed at being caught wearing nothing but one of Pariston’s white button-down shirts and a pair of black boxer shorts. The rest of his clothes, and the clothes he’d _borrowed_ from the others, presumably trundled along in the washing machine behind him. On the front of the machine someone had taped a note with the names of each of their teammates scribbled next to each day of the week—Kururi’s handwriting, he noted—followed by rough caricatures of each of their faces in a different color ink. Someone had defaced both the images of his and Ging’s faces—and according to the list, it had become Ging’s turn to do laundry right at midnight.

“I can see that.” Pariston refused to actually enter the room, and leaned against the doorway, folding his arms across his chest. He glanced down at the coin, which Ging spun again. This time, it landed perfectly against the center of the tabletop, and spun without traveling.

“Found it in one of Marshall’s pockets. It’s a casino token, from the one by the airport.” Ging had flown in through the same one, and although he enjoyed both games of skill and games of chance, he did not make a habit of gambling himself.

“I didn’t think Marshall’s clothes would fit you,” Pariston said.

“Yeah, well, yours don’t either.” After he’d shown up out of the blue, Ging had realized fairly quickly that he hadn’t made any plans beyond ‘ _Become #2 in Beyond’s group_ ’ and had entirely neglected to plan out the finer details of such an enterprise. Like packing. Or negotiating sleeping arrangements. So far, he’d been sleeping on the couches or taking a few hours here and there during the daytime when people weren’t using their beds, and taking what he needed until he could arrange for the necessary belongings to be delivered.

At that, Pariston’s eyes showed some measurable amount of concern. “You haven’t put my shirts in the wash, have you?”

“Yeah. Why’d you ask?”

When Pariston spoke, he sounded deeply put-out. “They’re dry clean only.”

“I would’ve known that, if there were any tags.” Ging offered him an easy smile and leaned over to check the timer on the machine’s display.

“They’re going to shrink.”

“Well, maybe they’ll fit me better, then.” The coin finally tipped over, onto the side imprinted with the casino’s name. The other featured a relief of the building, with its four, distinctive spires.

“How about a game?” Ging asked, suddenly. “We’ll each call a side of the coin. Whoever calls it right gets to ask the other a question. I’m waiting for the machine to finish, and I’m bored.”

“You don’t have much time left.” Pariston nodded at the timer. “Maybe ten minutes, at most.”

“If you don’t want to play, just say so.” Ging pushed up the too-long sleeves; the few buttons he’d done up on the shirtfront were mismatched.

“I didn’t say that.” He pointed towards the coin. “Can we call that side heads?”

“Sure.”

“Then go ahead. That’s what I’ll call.”

Ging flipped the coin, and it landed off-center on the tabletop, spinning in a lopsided arc until it fell, wobbling, tails-side up. Each of the casino’s four spires flew a tiny flag with a different symbol of the suites on a deck of cards.

“Let’s see…” Ging tapped his fingers against the top of the washing machine. “How did you first meet Beyond?”

“A mutual acquaintance introduced us,” Pariston answered smoothly. Ging’s mouth twisted into a frown, and he scratched at the underside of his chin as he chuckled at the misinformation.

“That’s barely an answer.” He sounded almost rueful, before his grin returned and he snatched up the coin. “Another, then.”

Yet again, the coin landed on tails.

“I wonder,” Ging began, “whether you would have carried out this plan of yours had Netero lived. Were you waiting for him to die? Or, regardless of what happened, would we still have found ourselves in this exact position?”

A smirk. “Not _this_ exact position.”

“Answer the question,” he said, firmly.

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Feel free to lie. I never said you had to answer the question _truthfully_ , only that you had to answer. A lie can tell me just as much about you as the truth can, sometimes.”

“Hmm.” Pariston seemed to look past him, to the circular, clear door of the washing machine where the clothes spun in a darkened, unending loop.

“It _was_ fortuitous, things winding up this way,” he said, slowly. “While _Beyond_ was certainly waiting for his father to die, I saw no such reason.” He turned to look down at Ging, assessing his reaction. “Does that satisfy you?”

“For now.” He moved to pick up the coin. “Another?”

The loud, shrill beeping of the wash ending jarred them both out of their standoff. Ging abandoned the coin to open the washing machine, and dumped a handful of wet clothes onto the machine’s enamel top while he opened the dryer. Behind him, Pariston cleared his throat.

“What? Don’t worry, I’ll clear out the lint—”

“Not that.” There was an unwarranted amount of humor in his voice, and Ging turned his attention to the clothes, wondering what about them Pariston could find so amusing.

He reached for the first item—a green shirt of Marshall’s—and lifted one edge to reveal one of Pariston’s shirts. The previously white sleeve was stained pink. And peeking out from underneath rested one of Marionette’s bright red towels.

“…Oops.” Ging sheepishly unfolded the rest of the heap of clothes; nearly every one had some kind of red or pink stain. “ _That_ wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I suppose you don’t have much experience with this sort of thing.” While Ging expected Pariston to be a bit more upset about the stains on his clothes, Ging supposed he had considered them void the moment Ging had put them in the wash to begin with.

“Not at all.” He let a laugh escape him, before he tossed the red towel into the dryer. “My supplies are supposed to arrive tomorrow. I thought I would do something nice for everyone I borrowed something from, but it looks like that backfired on me.”

At least the clothes smelled nice. The detergent was a bright, flowery kind of scent, although he might’ve used too much of it. They all smelled alike, now, after enough time spent at the compound using the same supplies.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He made to step out of the doorway, but paused when Ging reached for the coin.

“One last time?”

“I don’t think so.”

His easy smile returned. “Suit yourself, Paris.” He flipped the coin towards the table; it spun, slowly, for a few seconds before coming to a stop exactly on the coin’s edge. His eyes met Pariston’s.

For one moment, his mask broke, and Ging saw the surprise etched onto his face, before he recovered and it was replaced with a strange kind of approval.

Then, Pariston chuckled, and turned away from the doorframe to head deeper into the compound.

The next morning, when Pariston walked into the kitchen, a few of the others were finishing up breakfast. Ging sat in the middle of the small group, wearing black pants and a white dress shirt open over a black sleeveless top.

The sides and sleeves of the dress shirt were marked with pink stains.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments.


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